


Friday Night

by hawksonfire



Series: Clint Barton Bingo 2019 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky is the Mother of the Tower, Bucky likes to cook breakfast, Drunk Clint Barton, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 06:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18440564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire
Summary: Drunk Clint Barton is different than Sober Clint Barton, and Sober Clint Barton pretending to be Drunk Clint Barton is different from them both. Bucky's pretty sure he feels the same about all of them anyway.





	Friday Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Clint Barton Bingo G2 - Bed Sharing  
> Also written for Bucky Barnes Bingo K3 - Bed Sharing  
> Also, also written for Star Spangled Bingo G5 - Bed Sharing
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sensing a theme.
> 
> Thanks to the Bad Decisions Bingo Discord crew who cheered me through it and made me do sprints. Love y'all.

**Bucky**

Bucky slept by himself most nights. It’s not that he wanted to be by himself, but he couldn’t very well sleep in the same bed as Steve and Wilson, could he? So, he is alone. He doesn’t mind, not really. He’s a pretty light sleeper anyway, and it’s not like he moves much. He still wakes up at the drop of a hat, which sucks on nights like these. 

Nights like these being Fridays. Stark throws a goddamn party every week and as good as the soundproofing in the Tower is, it doesn’t quite beat super-soldier hearing. So Bucky deals with the ‘just faint enough to annoy but not loud enough to hear’ music. He deals with the sounds of feet stomping up and down his hallway as people come and go.

He even deals with all the hungover Avengers the next morning. Somehow he’s become the defacto hangover breakfast maker? He doesn’t mind. Bucky likes cooking. It‘s calming.

It’s a Friday night, around three in the morning, and Bucky hears someone fiddling at his door. His shoulders tense - even though he  _ knows _ that no one without clearance could get into his apartment, or even onto his floor. He palms a knife and stalks over to the door, pulling it open - and catching an armful of drunk Hawkeye, just barely avoiding gutting the man with his knife.

“What’re you doin’ in my ‘partment, Barnes?” Hawkeye slurs, blinking up at him blearily.

“‘S’not your apartment, Birdbrain,” Bucky says, but he’s holding back a smirk.

“Can I stay anyway? If this is  _ your _ ‘partment, then mine’s two - one - too many floors away. ‘S’not cool to make me walk down the stairs when ‘m drunk, Barnes.” Hawkeye - Barton? Bucky can’t remember his first name - hasn’t moved from Bucky’s arms. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You can stay here for the night, Barton, but I’m not makin’ you coffee in the morning.” He pulls Barton over his shoulder and lugs him into the bedroom, putting him on the bed. “Watch it!” Bucky darts forwards and steadies the man as he nearly sways off the bed.

“See better from a distance…” Barton mutters, eyes already closing.

“Don’t conk out on me yet, Birdbrain,” Bucky says, “Still gotta take your clothes off.”

“Kay,” Barton says. Bucky is not expecting him to pull his shirt off and he only stares at Barton’s - stupidly muscled - chest and stomach because he’s shocked. Barton tosses his shirt somewhere and Bucky scoffs as it lands right on the top of Bucky’s laundry hamper. “Best marksman in the world, Barnes,” Barton says as he’s pulling off his pants.

“You haven’t gone up against me yet,” Bucky says absently, watching Barton’s pants fly through the air and land on his shirt.

“When ‘m sober and can see straight -” Barton snorts. “Hah. Me. Do anything straight. When I stop seein’ two of you, we’re gonna have ourselves a lil shootin’ competish - competion - thing.” Before Bucky can stop him or agree, Barton falls face first onto Bucky’s bed and sprawls out, snoring. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Guess I’ll take the couch then.” As if he will actually sleep with someone unfamiliar in the apartment with him. He heads out to the couch and lays down, preparing himself for a long, sleepless night. 

He wakes up four hours later, pleasantly surprised and refreshed. When he checks the bedroom, Barton’s gone and there’s no sign that he was ever there. Bucky tries not to feel the coil of disappointment in his gut and heads to the common kitchen to start on his hangover breakfast. No one’ll be awake ‘til ‘round ten anyway, but Steve eats like a trucker regularly and everyone else nearly matches him when they’re hungover.

Bucky likes cooking the big breakfasts. Makes him feel like part of something good. 

~~~~~~

Two and a half hours later, Natasha stumbles into the kitchen, somehow not looking even the slightest bit dishevelled despite clearly being hungover. “Morning. You see anyone else on your way here?” Bucky asks quietly. He passes over a cup of coffee, made just the way she likes it and turns back to his food. Unlike some people - Stark - Bucky takes no pleasure in seeing others in hangover pain.

Natasha takes a while to answer, likely draining her mug before she does, then says, “Steve went out for a run couple hours ago, Sam’s still sleeping, Bruce and Thor weren’t here, Tony won’t be awake for another hour, and Clint stumbled into my room about an hour ago and hasn’t moved from the couch since.” 

Bucky very carefully does not react to learning Barton’s -  _ Clint’s _ \- name. “Just us, then.” Natasha hums in agreement and Bucky carefully plates a bunch of food, sliding it in front of her. “Eat up.” The kitchen falls silent for a bit as she eats. Bucky leans one hip onto the counter, sipping at his coffee and watching her over the rim of his mug.

“Something I can help you with?” Natasha says, not looking up.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ll figure it out eventually.” He’s interrupted by Clint stumbling into the kitchen, scrubbing at his eyes. 

“Coffee,” he groans, beelining for the machine. Bucky redirects him to a chair and hands him a mug full of steaming coffee, and when he drains that one in four seconds flat, Bucky hands him another one. 

“Savour that, machine’s not done yet,” he warns, heading back to the oven and plating some food. He puts it in front of Clint and jerks his chin. “Eat.”

Clint grunts at him, still half-asleep, and shovels food into his mouth. He finishes his plate in record time - honestly, Bucky’s not sure he’s seen even Steve eat that fast. Bucky makes him another plate and refills his cup. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to this tower,” Clint moans through his coffee. He looks up and locks eyes with Bucky, and then chokes on his eggs. Natasha pounds him on the back silently, smirking.

Bucky hovers, unsure what to do. Well, he knows what to do, but Natasha’s already stopped the choking. Clint finishes the rest of his breakfast in silence, fills his mug once more and rushes out of the kitchen with no excuse. Bucky looks at Natasha and raises an eyebrow. She shrugs.

Bucky shakes his head and turns back to the stove, heating up the food just in time for Tony and Colonel Rhodes to stumble in, yawning. “Oooh, breakfast,” Stark says, making grabby hands at the food. 

Rhodes smacks his hand. “Say thanks, Tony.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Stark snarks. Bucky rolls his eyes and hands them both a plate. Steve and Wilson walk into the kitchen holding hands and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“‘Bout time you two got here, food’s almost gone,” he says, snickering at Wilson’s offended gasp.

“You didn’t save any for me? How dare you, Barnes! I thought we were friends!” Wilson says, glaring.

“What gave you that idea,” Bucky says flatly. Wilson gasps again and Natasha throws a sausage at him. 

“Quiet, you fuck.” She snarls. Wisely, Wilson listens. So does everyone else in the kitchen.

No one wants a repeat of March 18, 2016. Bucky shudders. He was picking scrambled eggs out of his arm for  _ weeks _ after that morning. Bucky leans against the counter and smiles softly, looking out over his team. He didn’t think things could be this good. Only thing that would make it better is if Bruce, Thor and Clint were here.

Oh well. There’s always next Saturday morning.

~~~~~~

Bucky’s not expecting the doorknob to his apartment to twist. Nor is he expecting the - familiar - voice that curses outside the door. He rolls his eyes, sheathes the knife he had grabbed and pulls open his door. “This isn’t my ‘partment,” Clint slurs, swaying on his feet.

Bucky snorts. “No, pal, it ain’t. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He pulls Clint inside and leads him to the bedroom again. This time, he doesn’t stare when Clint shucks off his shirt and pants. He also doesn’t stare when Clint climbs into his bed on the left side - Bucky sleeps on the right side.

“You comin’?” Clint asks, already burrowed into the blankets, eyes and a little tuft of hair poking out. 

“You gonna be good with that when you wake up in the morning?” Bucky asks cautiously.

Clint shrugs. Or rather, the pile of blankets with eyes shrugs. “Prob’ly. You’re pretty hot, Barnes.” Bucky stares at him blankly. Clint shrugs. “Up to you. Won’t mind though.” With that enlightening statement, he appears to roll over and fall asleep. Bucky stares for five more minutes before abruptly shaking his head and leaving his room, climbing onto the couch and resigning himself to a sleepless night.

Once again, he wakes up four hours later, pleasantly surprised. And once again, Clint is no longer in his bed, although this time there’s a note. 

_ Thanks for the bed. Won’t happen again. _

Bucky is strangely disappointed. 

~~~~~~

It happens three more times before Bucky gets tired of not-sleeping on his couch, and figures he might as well not-sleep in his bed. When he climbs in, Clint rolls over and blinks at him owlishly. “My bed. ‘M sleepin’ in it,” Bucky mutters, fully prepared to leave if Clint objects.

“‘S’okay,” Clint mumbles, squishing himself closer to Bucky. “You’re warm ‘nyway.” Clint falls back to sleep almost immediately but Bucky stares at the ceiling for an hour, trying to ignore the feeling of Clint’s breath on his arm and the sound of his little snores echoing throughout Bucky’s bedroom.

He dozes off eventually, falling into a dreamless sleep. He wakes up when someone elbows him in the side and curses. “Whazzat?” Bucky says blearily, lifting his head and squinting. 

“Sorry, fuck, didn’t mean to wake you up, my bad, I’m leaving I swear, I’m just a little -  _ fuck on a stick _ ,” Clint swears viciously. Bucky looks over at him and is met by a sheepish grin. “Okay, so I’m a little bit stuck. Help?” 

Bucky absently untangles Clint from his bedsheets, mind stuck on how good Clint looks in his bed. “There, all set,” Bucky says, removing the final cover from Clint and revealing his mouthwateringly attractive body to the world. Or at least, to Bucky. Bucky very pointedly does not stare, rolling away to grab the glass of water he left beside his bed. “Here, drink this.”

He hands it to Clint and watches him drink it, taking the glass when he’s done and setting it on the table. “Thanks?” Clint offers, shifting on his feet. Bucky waves him off. “No, seriously. Thanks for letting me crash here the past few Fridays. Don’t know why Drunk Clint thinks it’s a good idea to keep coming here, but he does. And you haven’t killed him - me - yet, so go us?”

Bucky snorts. “I wouldn’t kill him. Or you. Guy gives me too many compliments.”

Clint’s eyes widen. “He  _ what _ .”

“Calls me hot,” Bucky shrugs, climbing out of bed and stretching. At some point during the night, his shirt came off. Whatever. “Think he just can’t see straight when he’s drunk.”

“I never do anything straight,” Clint blurts, “You know, ‘cause I’m gay.” He winces.

Bucky chuckles. “Me too, pal. Only thing I ever did straight was shoot, and it took the army to beat that into me.” Bucky heads into the kitchen for coffee, leaving Clint gaping like a fish behind him. He hums absently as he ruffles through his cupboards. “Where did I put - there it is.” He pulls out his favourite mug (it has planets on it) and an extra one for Clint (this one has Hawkeye’s symbol on it, but he doesn’t think anything of it when he fills it and hands it to Clint).

“You have my merch?” Clint says, shocked.

Bucky lifts a shoulder. “Sure. Got all the ‘vengers merch.” Seeing Clint’s face fall makes Bucky scramble to fix whatever he said. “Yours is my favourite though. Colourful and bright.”

“Yeah?” Clint brightens. Bucky nods. 

“Got a couple shirts too,” he offers. “Mostly just use ‘em as pyjamas, they’re way too tight for outside use, but they’re comfy.” Bucky does not, in fact, have Hawkeye shirts - and now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure the mug is the only  Hawkeye branded thing he has - but he’s damn well going to be getting some if it makes Clint’s smile like that.

“That’s awesome! Hey, your merch is my favourite too! There’s this hoodie I have that’s got like, one silver sleeve and looks like your tac gear? So fuckin’ comfy, I swear every time I put it on I fall asleep.” Clint grins at him, sipping his coffee.

“Pardon my interruption, sirs, but Agent Romanoff is in the kitchen wondering where Sergeant Barnes is,” JARVIS says apologetically.

Bucky curses. “Shit. J, tell her I’m on my way, alright? Sorry, have to go make breakfast for the hungover team.” He rolls his eyes and Clint snickers. 

“Mind if I tag along?” He asks. Bucky shakes his head and the two of them make their way to the kitchen. “I can stop showing up at your door on Friday’s, if you want,” Clint says, not looking at Bucky. “Can’t be great seeing this ugly mug every Friday.”

“Nah, I don’t mind. Keeps me entertained, at least. Prob’ly wouldn’t suck if you came around sober, even.” Bucky holds his breath (only a little) waiting for Clint’s response.

“Yeah?” Clint says, lighting up. “That wouldn’t be the worst way to spend my time.” They grin at each other like idiots all the way to the kitchen.

~~~~~~

That Tuesday, Clint shows up at Bucky’s door with a six-pack of beer and some movie that Bucky hasn’t seen. “You haven’t seen Home Alone?” Clint gasps, scandalized. “Dude, buddy, Bucky, pal,” he says seriously, leaning in close. Bucky can feel Clint's breath on his mouth. “Home Alone is  _ the best movie _ that has ever been made, hands down, I will not be taking questions. Where do you think I get all my prank ideas?”

“I didn’t even know you pranked,” Bucky says, already missing Clint’s warmth as he goes to put the movie in.

“Of course I prank,” Clint scoffs, “I’m the prank  _ master _ .”

“Stark might have something to say about that,” Bucky comments, settling into the couch.

“Tony can suck my dick,” Clint grumbles.

“Pepper might have something to say about that,” Bucky says, laughing when Clint’s eyes widen.

“Oh fuck, I take it back. Tony can’t go anywhere near my dick!” Clint says frantically. Bucky laughs so hard he cries at the look on Clint’s face. Then he does it again when the movie starts and the little kid - reminds him of Stevie, honestly - hits two grown men in the face with paint cans.

It’s the best dat- day he’s had in a long time.

~~~~~~

After watching Home Alone, Clint and Bucky hang out nearly every day. Clint still shows up at Bucky’s apartment on Fridays, drunk, and always seems surprised when Bucky lets him stay. It’s not weird when Clint rolls over in his sleep and his arm flops over Bucky’s chest.

It’s not weird in the morning when they wake up to find themselves cuddling. “‘S nice to sleep next to someone again,” Bucky offers, wincing. Clint just nods and tucks his nose further into Bucky’s neck. Bucky suppresses a shiver.

After that Friday, they cuddle almost every time Clint stays the night - a lot of which aren’t on Fridays anymore. Bucky finds himself not minding as much as he probably should that Clint spends so much time together. Of course, they each still have their bad days. 

One of Bucky’s comes along on a Friday evening. Someone walks by his door and says something, Bucky doesn’t know what - just that it sounds like an old handler and the next thing he knows, Clint is kneeling in front of him, listing slightly to the left. “Bucky,” he whines, “If you’re having a bad day I can leave but I really wanna cuddle so can you let me stay anyway? I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Bucky snorts, surprising himself. “You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself if your life depended on it, Birdbrain.” He stands shakily and takes Clint’s hand. They go to their -  _ his _ bedroom and Clint strips down, as usual. He climbs into bed but when Bucky doesn’t follow, he looks behind him. “You comin’? ‘S cold without you,” he says, patting the spot beside him.

Bucky gnaws on his lip. “You okay if I take my shirt off? I know the arm wigs some people out, and the scars aren’t much better.”

Clint’s eyes widen and he makes grabby hands. “Yes, gimme shirtless Bucky, I want him!” Bucky laughs and pulls off his shirt, holding it in his hands self-consciously before letting it drop. “Ooh, pretty muscles,” Clint says dreamily, “Wanna lick ‘em all over, wanna lick  _ you _ all over.”

Bucky snorts. “Maybe when you’re sober, doll. Ask me again tomorrow.” He climbs into bed and Clint positions himself the way he normally does, head over Bucky’s heartbeat and arm across his stomach. 

“Night, pretty Bucky’s pretty muscles,” he mumbles into Bucky’s skin. “See you tomorrow.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling for twenty minutes trying to make some blood come back to his brain. 

~~~~~~

When he wakes up the next morning, for the first time in months, Clint is nowhere to be found. Bucky yawns and rolls over, fully prepared to be met with Clint’s sleepy face. He isn’t. In fact, Clint’s side of the bed - when did he get a side of the bed? - is cold to the touch, meaning he’s been gone for a while.

“JARVIS?” Bucky asks, stretching. “You know where Clint is?”

“Agent Barton has gone back to his own quarters, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky frowns. “Is he alright? He never leaves without saying goodbye first.”

“Physically, Agent Barton appears to be fine.”

“Hmm,” Bucky says thoughtfully. He heads down to the kitchen and starts cooking. Natasha wanders in, then Tony and Rhodes, and soon enough everyone except Clint is in the kitchen, eating and drinking coffee quietly.

“Anyone seen Clint?” Stark asks between mouthfuls.

Steve shakes his head. “He left before the party really got started yesterday, didn’t drink hardly at all. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was sleeping in.”

Something breaks and Bucky belatedly realizes that it was the mug he was holding. The Hawkeye mug, to be precise. “You alright there, Barnes?” Stark asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Bucky says stiffly, quickly mopping up the spilled coffee, cleaning up the broken shards, and filling up a new mug. “Arm spasmed. You can look at it later.” He stalks out of the kitchen and heads directly for Clint’s apartment. He knocks twice - not gently - and when Clint opens the door, the look on his face tells Bucky he knew this was coming.

Bucky storms inside and leans against the counter in Clint’s kitchen. Because he’s a nice person, he hands Clint the coffee and waits until he’s had at least half of it before he says anything. “You wanna explain to me why you came to my room pretending to be drunk last night, Barton?”

Clint flinches at the name, and Bucky nearly does too but he holds his ground. “Drunk Clint gets away with a lot more than Sober Clint does. You let him compliment you and you cuddle him closer.” Clint shrugs, looking away. 

Bucky scoffs. He takes three steps and is standing right in front of Clint, their chests nearly brushing. He takes the mug out of Clint’s hands and puts it behind him. “I do that with Drunk Clint because he’s pushy. He whines when I don’t hold him, he complains when I sleep on the couch, and he pushes his cold feet against my legs when I’m trying to sleep.” Clint's face falls and he tries to turn away, but Bucky grabs his shoulders and makes Clint face him. “He drinks too much coffee in the morning and turns into Sober Clint, who always keeps a respectable distance between us unless I initiate the touch.”

“I get it, okay,” Clint snaps, yanking himself out of Bucky’s grip. “You prefer drunk me over sober me, welcome to the club.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Bucky says softly. 

“Thanks, but I don’t need to hear how much you prefer me when I’m a moron.” Clint snarls, but Bucky can hear the hurt in his voice.

“You’re always a moron, Clint. Drunk or sober, asleep or awake. I let Drunk Clint get away with that stuff because I know that if I tried it with Sober Clint he would push me away. Sober Clint would try and be respectful of my boundaries, he would try and let me down gently. Or at least, I thought he would before I found out that you came to my room sober last night.” Clint stares at him. “Drunk Clint and Sober Clint are the same person, just separated by a little alcohol.” Bucky shrugs and directs Clint’s gaze to him once more. “And I love them both the same anyway.”

Clint’s eyes widen. “Did you just -” Bucky nods. “Am I drunk now?” Bucky snorts and shakes his head.

“Stone-cold sober, sweetheart,” he confirms.

“Then I should’ve done this last night,” Clint mutters, right before he pulls Bucky into a kiss and promptly makes him lose all forms of higher thought. Bucky likes kissing Clint, he thinks to himself.

“You should’ve done that the first time you came to my room sober,” Bucky says, grinning when Clint jerks and peers at him fearfully. “Drunk you is different than Sober you acting like Drunk you, and now that I have examples of both…” Bucky shrugs, smirking.

Clint grins. “Well, you can rest assured that they’re both equally attracted to you. Drunk Clint is just louder about it.” 

Bucky snorts. Then he kisses Clint again. Maybe Stark’s parties aren’t so bad after all.

~~~~~~

Bucky doesn’t sleep alone anymore. Clint always ends up on top of him somehow, but Bucky doesn’t mind, not really. He’s still a light sleeper, but he’s getting better. Clint’s snores help with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 1am this morning, and then proceeded to stay awake for another 3 hours after that. Someone come knock me out with a hammer.


End file.
